Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Plath: Daddy

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 183
    Daddy

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time------
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the dear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You------

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two------
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
          12 October 1962



普拉斯《诗全编》
第183首

  老爸

你不行了,不行了,再也
不行了,你这只黑鞋,
我在里面活了三十年,
像一只脚,苍白而可怜,
几乎不敢呼吸或打个喷嚏。

老爸,我早该杀掉你。
可你死了,我也没得到机会——
沉如大理石,装着上帝的大袋子,
恐怖的雕像,有一只大得像
旧金山海豹的灰脚趾,

一个脑袋插在畸形的大西洋中,
向那里的蔚蓝倾注着豆绿,
在美丽的瑙塞特港外那片水域。
我曾时常祈祷把你重新找到。
哦,你。

操一口德国腔,住波兰小镇,
它已被战争的压路机碾平,
被战争,战争,战争。
而它的名字实在平常。
我的波兰友人

说这地名有一两打之多。
所以我永远说不清楚
你去过哪里,根在何处,
我永远没法追问。
舌头在嘴里卡住。

卡死在带刺的铁丝网里。
吾,吾,吾,吾,
我的话难以成句。
我认为每个德国佬都是你。
而那语言很下流

一辆火车头,火车头
在欻欻声中把我当犹太人发落。
被送往达豪,奥斯威辛或倍尔森。
我说话开始像犹太人。
我想我很可能就是犹太人。

维也纳的清啤,蒂洛尔的积雪
并不那么真实与纯正。
我母系祖先有个吉普赛,我的好运有点怪,
加上我算命用的塔罗牌,我的塔罗牌
我可能真有点犹太血。

我对你一直战战兢兢,
你的纳粹空军,你的军官腔调。
胡子修剪齐整
湛蓝的亚利安眼睛。
装甲兵,装甲兵,哦,你——

不是上帝而是个纳粹党徽,
黑得不会让一丝蓝天穿越。
每个女人都崇拜一个法西斯,
靴子印在脸上,畜生一样
有一副像你这畜生的心肠。

老爸,你站在黑板前,
我有你这张照片,你在上面,
一道裂痕留在下巴而不是脚上,
但你还是与魔鬼相当,绝对
与那黑衣人旗鼓相当,

他把我那娇嫩的红心撕咬成两块。
他们埋藏你时,我才十岁。
我二十岁时试图一死了之,
向你回归,回归,回归。
哪怕回去的只是白骨一堆。

但他们把我从闷口袋中弄醒,
用胶水把我粘在一起。
然后我明白了该做什么。
我以你做出一个模型,
一个黑衣人带着《我的奋斗》的表情,

以及对于拷刑台和拧螺丝的热衷。
我进而说出:我愿意,我愿意。
因此,老爸,我终于完了。
那黑色的电话断在了根部,
声音怎么爬也爬不过去。

我若杀掉一人,我也就杀了两条性命——
那条吸血僵尸,他谎冒你的名,
吸我的血已有一年,
七个年头了,如果你真想知道。
老爸,现在你尽可躺平了。

一根尖木桩插在你又肥又黑的心脏
你,村民们从来就不曾喜欢。
在你上面,他们又跺脚又跳舞,
就是你,他们一直都很清楚。
老爸,老爸,你这混蛋,我算完了。
       1962年10月12日


很久以前写的札记

说给《老爸》的话
女诗人普拉斯的父亲Otto原本是波斯顿大学的生物学兼德语教授,对蜜蜂的研究在当时非常著名,著有《大黄蜂及其生活方式》。他的个性固执刚愎,这导致他本来可以医治的糖尿病引发并发症,脚趾上的一个小伤口导致截肢,并终于导致他的死亡;当时诗人才8岁,还有一个弟弟。这使得她后来曾怨恨父亲,产生过她父亲故意要抛弃他们的想法。早在1951年或者1952年的时候(诗人生于1932年),她就写过一首题为《挽歌》的Villanelle,按这种19行诗的格式所要求,其中的第一行“蜜蜂的刺针带走我的父亲The sting of bees took away my father”在后面又重复三次。1959年诗人连续写了两首从蜜蜂角度写父亲的诗,《诗全集》的第103首题为《伊勒克特拉走在杜鹃小径》(Electra on Azalea Path),Electra便是那个杀母复仇的恋父者,而杜鹃小径则是诗人父亲安葬的那排坟墓的小路的名字;第104首题为《养蜂人之女》,蜂群中的大师maestro of the bees这个普拉斯词汇就出现在这首诗中;现在这个词汇已多少含有一丝色情意味,具体地说应该是指利用性魅力/能力而在女人堆中如鱼得水。她从小对能随便抓着蜜蜂而不被蜇的父亲非常崇拜,这种兴趣使得她在1962年学会了养蜂,并写出了一组绝对属于其代表作的五首蜜蜂诗。所以休斯被蜜蜂蜇这样的事她不仅写信给母亲时详加叙述,而且还变成一个非常有意味的意象入诗。另外,“黑衣人”这个意象也很重要,不仅仅是其父亲,也是其丈夫;诗集中第106首《黑衣人》这首诗则是根据休斯站在她童年生活过的海边时的情景写出来的,她父亲死后,她离开了海边的幸福生活。在一篇回忆文章中她如此写道:“我父亲过世,我们搬到内地。从此,我生活中的那九年像封存在一只瓶子中的小船一样——美丽、不可触及、废弃了,一个优美的、飞翔的白色神话。”
《老爸》是普拉斯最出名的一首诗,也是最难翻译的一首诗(尽管中文起码有四五个铅印译文,但是都不是很尽人意,当然译文总是译文,丧失是可以理解的,引起误解肯定是失败的)。与她早期诗中的格律的严谨相比,这首诗更多的隐含的是语义上的严谨,例如,shoe/boot,bag/sack,foot/root这些词不仅运用于诗歌中的主人公和受话人(如果地下有知,弗洛伊德读到这只鞋子和靴子的意象一定满脸坏笑),而且每个词的含义还都有变化和发展,典型的如与说话相关的词以及被动的鞋子中的脚这一意象发展到在死人坟墓上跳舞践踏的脚。还有更难翻译的词的多义/含混与口吻的不确定/不稳定性。确实,诗人本来对她父亲的态度就很矛盾,如果再在诗歌中加入虚构(这当然不可避免,正如诗人自己所言),情况就更加复杂。要想再现从第一行You do not do, you do not do就已经具有的催眠似的(儿歌)节奏和不断重复的长音[u:]已经很难,更不必说考虑do的含混多义。我的翻译如果押韵则在各节押同一个韵,这样似乎有点像儿歌或者诗人特别喜欢的limerick(通俗的五行押韵AABBA打油诗),其实这首诗本身就可以当成limerick来读。听普拉斯本人朗诵这首诗的时候,似乎可以感受到其语气后隐藏着一种嘲弄甚至自嘲。
中间部分的这两行至关重要:And I said I do, I do. / So daddy, I'm finally through. 这两行上承第一行You do not do, you do not do,下启最后一行I'm through。按普拉斯自己的解释,这首诗是以一位有恋父情结的女儿的口吻写的,第一行的do显然与中间And I said I do(我在婚礼上说“我愿意”)相一致;在翻译这个I do, I do的时候,我用“行啊,我愿意”表示和第一行的“不行”来对应,至于“不行”的其他可能含义(如性能力方面的)则需要联系下文的其他措辞/阐释来理解。女儿对老爸的崇拜对应着每一个女人对法西斯的崇拜,他们组成了一种施虐受虐关系,诗歌中反复出现的身体部位的意象甚至会令读者产生某种窥淫感,这也可说是她作为女性主义意识浓厚的一个证明(不要忘了她另一篇著名的弥漫着脱衣舞女式的挑衅挑逗意味的诗篇《女拉扎路》);尽管施虐男主角热衷于“上刑折磨rack”和“拧螺丝screw”(读者应该明白这两个字的俚语含义分别还是床以及性交的粗俗说法),所以受虐者仍然说“我愿意”;然而在他死后或者抛弃她后(死了的他是她老爸,抛弃她的那个“他”是休斯,当然不管是谁都一样)她只会不快乐。但是“老爸,我(自豪地/坚韧地)终于熬到头了”;但是“老爸,我(无奈地)总算想通了”;或者,但是“老爸,(可怜的)我还是完蛋了”(这些都是I am through的意义)。她所崇拜的诗人小说家D. H. 劳伦斯曾不无自豪地将他的诗集取名为《瞧!我们挺过来了!Look! We Have Come Through》;读者也许明白这诗集可说是劳伦斯顶着人们的指责写的情诗集。另外,普拉斯女儿Freda(诗人、艺术家)的名字也部分因为劳伦斯的情人/妻子叫Freda,她写的回忆录《说给风的话》激发我这篇短文如此取题;当然下面这些话就权当着诗歌主人公(persona)的内心独白吧,也就是《说给〈老爸〉的话》了。儿歌的节奏从某种意义上按时这一主人公似乎仍然受羁于恋父情结,所以她似乎分不清丈夫和父亲的界限,也不知道自己到底是否成年。是否可以说杀死父亲就是那个必要的成年仪式initiation?这一仪式本身不正是一个驱魔仪式exorcism?

她说给她死去的老爸:
尽管按说你不是魔鬼,因为你的脚趾是分开的,但你的死归因于脚趾的伤,你还是相当于魔鬼(你死时我还小,就会这么推理),这与那个使我心碎的男人有什么区别,都在吸我的血(现在我大了,便这样推理),所以要用木头扎进你这吸血僵尸的心脏,完成这个“驱魔仪式”(但是我并没有动手);而村民们一直就知道是你,所以当村民们把你“做”了的时候,我除了骂一句“你这杂种”外便无话可说了,这首诗也就这么结束了吧;所以当村民们把你“做”了,我于是骂你一句“你这杂种”,就当是我了结了与你的一切(你与我之间的电话线早已连根断了,就好像你的阳具拔出了我的身体)(through的另一种俚语含义:玩到手了也玩完了,through with a girl/woman);当村民们把你“做”了,我骂你又有何用,我本想“向你回归,回归,回归 ”,可是“现在你(他妈的)尽可高枕无忧了(you can lie back now)”,而我却完了(through),我已穷途末路、到了尽头。当村民们把你“做”了,我也在其中,现在仪式也结束了(through)。
唉,老爸,你是上帝也好,魔鬼也罢,我崇拜你,你死了,抛下我一人,本来想跟你去的,但是村民们“用胶水把我粘成一块/此后我明白应该如何”,“于是,老爸,我终于想通了”。我以你为模型找了一个男人,可是他妈的他“把我那娇嫩的红心撕咬成两块”,而且还竟然假冒你的模样,穿黑衣裳,整个一个不死的吸血僵尸,“他声称是你”;他背着我搞女人“已有一年”,玩弄我的一片痴情长达“七年”;有一天,那个不下蛋的母鸡,她的子宫就像大理石一样(《诗全集》第168首《另一个人》,指休斯的情妇阿霞Assia Wevill,当时据说她不能生育;她在普拉斯死后的第六年带着她和休斯所生的女儿秀拉一同自杀),“她痛恨 / 有个宝宝”,还粗着嗓子说她是一个男人(《诗全集》第207首《恐怖的东西》),要找我的男人,听得我真感到恶心,就好像电话里流出了淤泥一样(《诗全集》第169首《电话上的只言片语,意外听到》),我一气之下就把那电话线连根拔断(我跟他也因此断绝了感情牵连);他们丑事暴露了,村里人(我周围的朋友)也看不过去,“他们一直都很清楚”(但像我这样的偷情男人的老婆永远是最后才知道实情),所以他们把他给做了;我知道杀了他也就是杀了你,尽管“现在你尽可高枕无忧”了,僵尸真的死了,尽管我也挺过来了,但我还是要骂你(心里空虚得毕竟难受啊,《诗全集》第172首《无父的儿子》中我只能对咿呀学语的儿子这样惺惺相惜说:“不久,你就会感到一种缺失/ 在你身边疯长,像一棵树/ 一个死树,褪了颜色/ …… 但现在你还不能言语/ 而我也爱着你的愚笨)。我知道只有杀了你才能杀了他,否则僵尸就不会死,到了这一步,你倒是死而瞑目“高枕无忧”了,我的一生却他妈的完了。
骂完了,咒完了,我也消气了,日子总得过下去,让我将您的生命延续。“老爸,您安息吧,我已经挺过来了”(“瞧,我还得承认我是爱你的”)。我这首很特别的爱情诗你会读懂吗?

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